Every Day Quotes November
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about our favourite characters. One quote per day.
1. Nov 1

Every Day Quotes November

_**Nov 1 – continuation of Oct 27  
**_Not only is life a bitch, it has puppies.  
**Adrienne E. Gusoff**

Ziva David stared at her computer screen. They all looked so adorable!

After Jenny had fallen in love with a kitten at the shelter, Ziva had decided it was time she too got a pet. But instead of a ball of fluff (that was covering all her friend's expensive clothes in white fur), she wanted a puppy. Something that would start out cute, but she could train to attack intruders and scare Tony.

She loved dogs. They were cute, obedient and loyal. They were full of love for their owners. They were alert and could deal with any unwanted intruders. She could not quite believe she had not obtained one since coming to America before now.

"McGee," she hissed across the squad room.

The man left his work and joined her. "What? Oh, puppies!"

"You are good with computers," she reminded him. "I want a dog with teeth."

He appeared confused. "They all have teeth. Maybe not some of the older dogs, but… Oh. Vicious, right." He worked his magic on her computer and produced a list from the shelter.

"Young," she specified. "So I can train him myself."

McGee nodded, helpfully clicking away to shorten her list.

"Toda," she thanked him. "Now, which one is the cutest?"


	2. Nov 2

_**Nov 2  
**_Never tell evil of a man, if you do not know it for certainty, and if you know it for a certainty, then ask yourself, 'Why should I tell it?'  
**Johann K. Lavater**

"I will give you…" Tony paused for dramatic effect. "A week's supply of Berry Mango Madness."

Ziva threw a paperclip at him in response.

"Ms David gone off her beverages?" Tony teased. "Hmm. An extra large box of paperclips that you can threaten me with to your heart's content."

"You will steal them from the supply cupboard," she pointed out impassively. "And I know about last week."

"What about last week?" He looked confused.

"You tried to persuade the Director that I should not be allowed paperclips as I apparently constantly threaten to kill you with them, did you not?"

He gulped, recognizing the look in Ziva's eyes. "It was just a joke," he lied, concerned she really would kill him this time. "You don't normally offer to kill me with office stationary."

She thought back on all the times she had offered to kill him with her knife and agreed. "Next time, they will not find your body," she solemnly informed him.

He nodded. "Erm, how about a new pair of running shoes? I know your size."

"You would buy something impractical," she pointed out.

"Come on, Zee-_vah_! Give me a little help here!"

She smiled. "Why should I tell _you_?"


	3. Nov 3

_**Nov 3  
**_But a Constitution of Government once changed from Freedom, can never be restored. Liberty, once lost, is lost forever.  
**John Adams (1735 - 1826)**

Sometimes, Tony DiNozzo hated his job.

He could live with working under Gibbs, and with a ninja Mossad assassin and a computer geek. He could survive Abby's hugs and the bodies that crossed Ducky's table in all stages of decay. He could put up with the headslaps he received when he ogled the Director's legs. The hours he worked and the suspects he met were acceptable when he thought about the criminals he put behind bars.

But being behind bars himself was not really in his job description, official or unofficial. Even if it was just for one night, he couldn't stand being deprived of his liberty.

As usual, it was connected to his job. Gibbs wanted him to search the house of their deceased Petty Officer. Without a key, Tony had broken in through a window. The Petty Officer's over-vigilant neighbors had seen him entering and called the cops. Unfortunately for Tony, his information had led Gibbs on an urgent hunt for the killer and he would have to stay put until _el jefe_ could arrive to sort everything out.

He didn't like this at all. The walls felt like they were closing in. There was nothing to do, no space for him to distract himself with. The lights were on permanently, making it difficult to sleep (but not impossible, considering the practice he had at sleeping at work). The whole place was cold, miserable and lonely.

He would thank whoever got him out of here, even if it was the Probie.


	4. Nov 4

_**Nov 4  
**_By prizing heartfulness above faultlessness, we may reap more from our effort because we're more likely to be changed by it.  
**Sharon Salzberg**, _O Magazine, The Power of Intention, January 2004_

Ducky saw a lot of hearts in his job. Some were smaller than average, others were enlarged – sometimes due to disease, poison, or simply because in order to have an 'average', some things needed to differ in size.

He knew from experience that the physical size of a heart had no bearing on a person's heartfulness. The myth came from a time long ago when people believed the heart was the fountain of emotions, instead of simply a pump to force blood around the body. But he liked the saying 'a big heart' because it was beautiful.

He knew several people with 'big hearts' in that sense, the most obvious one a certain Goth forensic scientist. Abigail was full of love and care towards everything and everyone. She thought about other people all the time, providing comfort and support to just about every agent in the Navy Yard, willing to listen to anyone's problems at any time.

She volunteered at her local soup kitchen. She spent odd weekends helping Habitat for Humanity. She gave time, money and old belongings to various charities. She offered her couch (or her futon in her lab when necessary) to her friends when they needed somewhere to stay for the night.

Yes, Abigail definitely had a big heart.


	5. Nov 5

_**Nov 5  
**_A life of peace, purity, and refinement leads to a calm and untroubled old age.  
**Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had once believed that everything would settle down and become peaceful in his old age.

He snorted. Completely untrue. If anything, his life had become more complicated with each passing year.

The work never stopped, not that he wanted it to. His team were coming along, slower than he would have liked, but they were getting there even if DiNozzo needed headslapping more every year and Ziva needed to be restrained from killing her partner more often. Perhaps McGee was his biggest success story – the agent could now conduct an interview without stuttering.

It wasn't just his work. Women seemed to become more complicated with each day. Jenny was currently not talking to him after he had accidently broken her reading glasses (apparently leaving them on her office chair without informing her was a 'stupid idea'). His exes seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork – Diane had threatened to burn his boat the other week, which he couldn't understand as he hadn't spoken to her in years. Even Abby had snapped at him for forgetting her birthday.

He shook his head in frustration. Maybe next year, things would be easier. Maybe next year he could have the peaceful life everyone told him to expect.

But he wasn't holding out much hope.


	6. Nov 6

_**Nov 6  
**_You've got to vote for someone. It's a shame, but it's got to be done.  
**Whoopi Goldberg**

Abby Scuito beamed to herself as the elevator dinged. Visitors! So rare in her domain that she was tempted to create something more welcoming to greet them.

She was torn between a pretty picture on the wall, a life-size cut-out cardboard figure of some kind, and a red carpet leading through her doors. She preferred the cardboard figure, but was a little concerned that a certain silver-haired fox might shoot it before working out that it wasn't real.

Today was a good day. Election Day! A time to decide the President for the next four years. She and Timmy had followed the race closely this time, discussing and debating the relevant issues and players. They had gone to the polling station together before coming into the Navy Yard. And now it was her job to make sure everyone else voted.

She didn't mind _who_ they voted for. Abby believed it was an important civic duty to vote in elections. After all, it was silly for a person to complain about a government if they hadn't bothered to express their opinion by voting. Silly and wrong.

"Good morning, Abby."

The Goth continued to smile as Agent Wofford appeared. "Have you voted yet?" she asked.

Agent Wofford nodded. "Before I came in."

Abby thrust a sticker her way. "For everyone who votes," she explained. "I want one on everyone by the end of the day."

Agent Wofford grinned. "Give me a sheet and I'll help."


	7. Nov 7

_**Nov 7  
**_The best and safest thing is to keep a balance in your life, acknowledge the great powers around us and in us. If you can do that, and live that way, you are really a wise man.  
**Euripides (484 BC - 406 BC)**

Timothy McGee loved his two jobs. He had his day job at the Navy Yard, tracking down criminals and putting them behind bars. Then he had his other job, the one that was more like a hobby, writing novels under his pseudonym.

He enjoyed making a difference in the world, achieving justice for people. He had fought long and hard to become a field agent and being assigned to Agent Gibbs' team was, while nerve-wracking, the best he could ever wish for. He learnt something new every day, had the opportunity to try his hand at just about anything (and some things he really did not want to do), and generally loved the challenges it presented. The people he met and interacted with every day… he wouldn't change them for the world.

Except possibly DiNozzo.

His writing filled his spare time. It was something he enjoyed doing anyway and he was paid for it. He spent hours thinking about his characters and where he could take them, even if he did base them on the people he knew at work.

The problem he had was that either of them could be considered a full time job, especially when his editor knew of his day job and still expected him to produce chapter after chapter. Most days, he struggled to find a balance between the two. He needed _some_ time away from them both, and between his editor and Gibbs it was downright difficult, if not impossible.

He sighed. One of these days, he would figure something out. If he didn't, he'd either go on a killing spree or change editors. He wasn't entirely sure which one was more inviting…


	8. Nov 8

_**Nov 8  
**_History never looks like history when you are living through it.  
**John W. Gardner (1912 - 2002)**, _quoted by Bill Moyers_

The cold air surrounded Ducky and Ziva as they sat in Autopsy, silently considering the question. Neither of them noticed the chill, too accustomed to temperature extremes.

A few minutes earlier, Ducky had wondered aloud how many moments of history they had lived through. His were more obvious, due to his advancing years and interest in current affairs. He had watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon. He had been a medic in more than one war. In his job at NCIS, he knew some of his work had prevented moments that would otherwise be recorded in history.

But Ziva was a bit less open. She worked behind the scenes, infiltrating terrorist groups and killing people who would otherwise do harm to her fellow citizens or country. The moments of history she had lived through would only be known to herself. He could make a good guess, but she was unlikely to choose to confirm anything.

He wondered how many times her chosen path had prevented atrocities. How many lives she had saved through killing others. It was not possible to calculate such a thing. The people she had saved would never know and would never be known.

They came back to the present at the same time, both with the same soft smile playing on their lips. Nothing needed to be said – they had lived through so much, even though it hadn't been together.


	9. Nov 9

_**Nov 9  
**_Speak clearly, if you speak at all; carve every word before you let it fall.  
**Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 - 1894)**

Abby Scuito took an extra-long sip of her new Caf-Pow!, deciding against informing Gibbs this was her fifth of the morning. He was liable to withhold caffeine goodness if she admitted the truth. Taking a long breath, she began her explanation.

"So, your witness said Major Mellado was shot at pretty much point blank range. My ballistics say it couldn't have happened. Well, my ballistics and my blood spatter analysis. The spatter pattern indicates high velocity impact, which is consistent with a gunshot wound and the bullet Ducky pulled out of the guy. But the pattern's all wrong for a close-up shooting, see?"

She indicated a crime scene photograph on her screen.

"The gunshot residue is all wrong too," she continued happily. "The pattern it leaves behind can give me a rough idea of where someone was standing. I wish I could be exact, but I can't, _but_ I can definitely say that the shooter had to be at least two meters away when he pulled the trigger, which is not the same as point blank."

She nodded to herself.

"And then back to the ballistics. Point-blank shooting is a little hard to tell, but I can identify it. No way this happened here. The position of the bullet and the damage it caused would be different. Do you know how I worked that out? I identified the bullet and the most likely gun it was fired from –"

The Goth turned round and watched Gibbs leave. "Thanks for the Caf-Pow!" she called after him.


	10. Nov 10

_**Nov 10  
**_Only as you do know yourself can your brain serve you as a sharp and efficient tool. Know your own failings, passions, and prejudices so you can separate them from what you see.  
**Bernard M. Baruch (1870 - 1965)**

Jimmy Palmer glanced up from his work as Tony walked into Autopsy. The agent ignored him, as usual, and began asking Ducky a series of questions.

He turned back to his task of removing Private O'Donnel's brain. Ducky had given him a more responsible challenge than normal, and he was determined to prove he was up to it. So far, he had used the saw to open the skull, and now he was staring at the gray mass inside.

He looked up at Agent DiNozzo. The agent was asking some silly questions in Palmer's opinion, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself. Ducky wouldn't mind at all – in fact he would welcome it – but Tony would transfer his energy and enthusiasm onto him, and he didn't want another bruise on his back if Tony slapped it again.

"What are you doing, Autopsy Gremlin?"

Oops, he had been spotted. Time to fade back into the shadows, not that there were any shadows down here.

"Brain." He tried to look nonchalant and shrugged.

"Ooo."

Damn, Tony was interested. How to keep him away? Palmer lifted the brain out of the skull and held it up as if to examine it. Unfortunately, Tony didn't back off.

"If you look closely," Palmer began, deciding his best option was to start to lecture like Ducky. "You can see –"

It slipped out of his hands and landed on Tony's shoes. His brand new ones that he had been boasted about all day so much that even he and Ducky knew about them.

Ducky put his head in his hands as Palmer began to stutter out a response.


	11. Nov 11

_**Nov 11  
**_Do not employ handsome servants.  
**Chinese Proverb**

Tony DiNozzo was having a good day. He was up to date on his paperwork, for once, and Gibbs and Director Shepard had disappeared together an hour ago.

He wasn't risking any headslaps by leaning back on his chair and putting his feet up on his desk. He deserved a break after catching the killer yesterday. The wife. It was always the wife.

"I'm thinking of hiring a maid," he announced to his co-workers.

Ziva instantly dissolved into a fit of giggles, while McGee sighed and looked up from his work.

"You need to look around and get a good deal," the Probie informed him solemnly. "Not necessarily the cheapest, but someone with good references. You don't want her running off with your television."

"Good point," Tony conceded as Ziva struggled to breathe through her laughter. "Know any good ones?"

"You think _I _need a maid?" McGee snorted, returning to his computer screen.

Tony turned back to his partner. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"It is just…" Ziva paused to wipe the tears from her eyes. "You. Spending money on someone to clean up after you. Money that you could otherwise spend on movies and wooing women. You do know this maid will have to touch your belongings, right?"

He nodded, still confused.

"You almost took my hand off after I touched one of your precious James Bond DVDs," she pointed out, continuing to giggle. "I cannot see you voluntarily allowing someone to go in your apartment when you are not there."

He glared at her. No matter what she said, he was still hiring a maid.


	12. Nov 12

_**Nov 12  
**_A problem well stated is a problem half solved.  
**Charles F. Kettering (1876 - 1958)**

Ducky knew that some problems seemed insurmountable. Some problems were too big for anyone to handle. And the saying that sharing a problem was the first step to solving it was quite correct.

To be able to share a problem, one had to accept that such a problem existed. He knew far too many people who denied their problems to themselves and thus would never be able to solve them, or people who buried their heads in the sand and hoped it would either go away or someone else would solve it for them. If one could articulate a problem to someone else, no matter who it was, acknowledging the problem was a given.

But articulating it helped in other ways too. In order to be able to articulate it clearly, one had to understand the essence of the problem at hand. It was necessary to understand exactly what the problem was, without being vague or unsure. The problem had to be considered from all angles, which often helped to work out how to solve it in the first place.

Not to mention sharing the problem lightened the load. Someone else would now help out. Someone else could consider it too, and work out a way to solve it.

Yes, to state a problem clearly certainly helped to solve it.


	13. Nov 13

_**Nov 13  
**_If the shoe fits, you're not allowing for growth.  
**Robert N. Coons**

Jennifer Shepard laughed as she strolled down the street, arm in arm with Ziva and Abby.

After a very long and stressful month, Abby had appeared in her office this morning and demanded an afternoon on the town. Naturally Ziva had been roped into this makeshift female time; Jenny had taken Ziva's arm while she was in the middle of explaining part of their case to Gibbs and propelled her out of the Navy Yard.

She had never been more thankful for her protection detail; they would have to prevent Gibbs from killing her later if the messages he had been leaving on her Blackberry were any indication.

"A shoe shop!" Abby squealed, dragged them through the door with her. Jenny and Ziva exchanged looks and smiled. Only Abby could be so enthusiastic about something so mundane.

"I do need a new pair of heels," Ziva conceded. "I broke a stiletto on my last undercover evening by stamping on our suspect's foot."

"I hope it hurt," Jenny murmured quietly, not willing for Abby to overhear. Then louder, "I need a new pair too, for the dress I bought last week."

"Look! A sale!" Abby was practically bouncing up and down. "Lots of heels on offer."

Jenny laughed again as she began to look at the shoes. So much choice…


	14. Nov 14

_**Nov 14  
**_The wrong thing to do about any given circumstance or situation is to do nothing.  
**L. Ron Hubbard (1911 - 1986)**

Ziva David disliked stakeouts. She understood the need for them; to gather useful information through covert means. It involved being sneaky, something she was very good at. And it provided intelligence that would be difficult to gain any other way.

She did not mind the locations, the empty, dingy apartments or cramped cars that she was required to remain in for twelve hour shifts. She did not mind the lack of freedom, the inability to move around and exercise or simply stretch. She did not mind the junk food that was practically required eating, or the smell that built up after a few days of being unable to open a window. She had been trained to ignore all of these things.

No, what she disliked was that she felt she was doing nothing. She could be knocking down doors, chasing after suspects, interrogating them. She could be questioning her contacts or developing new ones. She wanted to feel as though she was actively _doing_ something, rather than sitting on her backside for hours at a time and staring gormlessly at a fixed point.

Why did she have to sit and wait? Why could she not stir the pot a little? She understood the theory, but it was difficult for her in reality. To remember why she was doing what she was going and to remain calm.


	15. Nov 15

_**Nov 15  
**_When men exercise their reason coolly and freely on a variety of distinct questions, they inevitably fall into different opinions on some of them. When they are governed by a common passion, their opinions, if they are to be called, will be the same.  
**Alexander Hamilton (1755 - 1804)**

"Special Agent Gibbs!"

Leroy Jethro Gibbs glared at his ex-partner. Why did she have to be his boss? She'd been able to rile him up without effort when they had been partners, and she hadn't lost her knack. If anything, the power had gone to her head and she had learnt how to annoy him even more.

He wanted Morrow back. He couldn't pull any fast ones, but at least he knew where he stood. Hell, some days he thought he'd even take that slimy Assistant Director Vance.

"You, _sir_, are a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen," Jenny warned.

He ignored the 'sir', knowing she'd dropped it in to piss him off even more. "What did I do this time, _Director_?"

Her glare intensified. "How can you not know? You flirted with a suspect. A _married_ suspect. A Senator's _wife_."

"So? Needed the information."

"You practically slept with her, Agent Gibbs."

He shrugged. "Semantics."

She allowed herself a tight smirk. "I see you've been using that dictionary I bought you. How about this then? The wife complained. The Senator complained. Their lawyer is calling me every hour on the hour and threatening to slap you with a sexual harassment suit. How am I supposed to clean this up?"

"Why are you asking me?" he questioned, turning away from her and storming towards the door.

"Agent Gibbs!" she called after him. "You will apologize in person or I will make sure your firearms certification disappears!"


	16. Nov 16

_**Nov 16  
**_Eat before shopping. If you go to the store hungry, you are likely to make unnecessary purchases.  
**American Heart Association Cookbook**

Timothy McGee shoved half the sandwich in his mouth while keeping his eyes firmly glued to his computer monitor. Too much to do, no time to do it in.

Gibbs had tasked him with hacking into the FBI to retrieve details about their current case. Fornell had turned over the investigation with surprisingly little complaint, and the whole team knew from experience it meant the wily FBI agent was keeping something back. Something they would prefer to know sooner rather than later.

Accessing the FBI's mainframe wasn't difficult, not for someone who estimated he hacked into the CIA four times a year. The trick was in not getting caught, especially as Fornell knew of his skills and might be watching. With a time constraint, it made things a touch harder.

Not too hard, but enough of a challenge for him to relish.

He was supposed to be on his lunch break. However, Gibbs had promised him a break later if he worked while eating now (not in words, but his expression had been easy enough to read). And so he ate the sandwich the Boss had collected (he wasn't going to ask _how_ Gibbs knew his favorite sandwich) over his keyboard while typing furiously.

A jalapeno dropped on his keyboard and he brushed it into the trash can without a second thought. There would be time to thoroughly clean his keyboard later.


	17. Nov 17

_**Nov 17  
**_Mountains inspire awe in any human person who has a soul. They remind us of our frailty, our unimportance, of the briefness of our span upon this earth. They touch the heavens, and sail serenely at an altitude beyond even the imaginings of a mere mortal.  
**Elizabeth Aston**, _The Exploits & Adventures of Miss Alethea Darcy, 2005_

Sometimes, Tony DiNozzo thought his partner was part dog. Or possibly mountain goat. There was no other way she could practically run up the side of such a steep hill.

He was following in the dust she left behind, trying not to watch her. It was too depressing to see her plough onwards, never missing a step, almost leaping from one spot to the next. How was he supposed to keep up with her? How was _anyone_ supposed to keep up with her?

As he continued to force one foot in front of the other, he wondered idly if this was part of Mossad training. Did they run up mountains in Israel? Did they have to climb Everest in under a certain amount of time to become Officers? Or was it simply a Ziva trait, one that had been forced into her by her father. Was the mother she never talked about a mountain climber in her spare time?

He began to pant, almost completely out of breath. Damn Gibbs for sending him up this hill. Damn Ziva for coming with him. Damn McGee for not offering to take his place. Surely his heart shouldn't be beating this fast. Would Ziva even notice if he had a heart attack?

"Come on, lazy skeleton!" Ziva yelled behind her without turning around.

Tony didn't even have the energy to correct her. Oh well. It could wait until he reached the top.


	18. Nov 18

_**Nov 18  
**_Pride is the chief cause in the decline in the number of husbands and wives.  
**Neil Diamond (1941 - )**, _Husbands and Wives_

Jennifer Shepard did not even glance up from her work when her door flew open and crashed against the wall beside it, while someone stormed into her office.

One of these days, he would learn to stop making such dramatic entrances. And then she would panic and think he'd received a head injury.

Still, a girl could dream.

Refusing to look up from her email to SecNav, she blinked furiously when he dropped a newspaper onto her keyboard. Stay calm, stay calm, don't imagine impaling him on a stiletto…

Too late.

"Agent Gibbs," she greeted him as calmly as she could. "How can I help you?"

"Page twelve," he informed her.

Glancing up at his impassive face, she decided she could ask questions later. She opened the newspaper to the correct page and immediately knew which article had aroused his attention. "Senator Lewis took me to the Marine Birthday Ball last week," she noted. "And you came all the way up here to show me a photograph from it."

"You dating him, Jen?"

The nub of the problem. "That would be none of your business," she replied, in her best _Director_ voice.

"He's a slimeball," he told her, in the same tone someone else would impart national secrets.

She began to smirk. "Are you questioning someone I may or may not be dating?" she inquired. "Because I think your track record with marriage should preclude you from this conversation."

His brow furrowed at 'preclude'.

Jenny sighed. "It would be like you giving Abby advice on tattoos. Pointless. And laughable."

"Hey, I have a tattoo!" he protested.

"And I'm going to pretend I don't know where it is," she countered, removing her reading glasses and rubbing her nose. It was too early to have this discussion. Too early and she hadn't had nearly enough coffee, chocolate and alcohol. "Stay out of my personal life."

As he stalked out of her office, she remembered to call after him, "And don't try to get it out of Ziva!"


	19. Nov 19

_**Nov 19  
**_Lady you bereft me of all words,  
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins,  
And there is such confusion in my powers.  
**William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)**

Timothy McGee was head over heels in love with Abby.

He had been for a long time, ever since the dissolution of their previous relationship. They had fallen apart because they were both too stubborn and set in their ways, refusing to admit they were in love and thus souring their time together. He was too young and inexperienced, and Abby was too afraid to feel trapped in a relationship.

But that hadn't changed his feelings towards her. He still loved her from the bottom of his heart. She was still the first person he thought about in the morning and the last at night. He would still do anything for her.

If she wasn't willing to be with him, he would settle for being friends. He went out of his way to make her smile and laugh, he made sure she was happy and he bought her little sweet gifts. He observed her from afar, wanting to protect her.

Perhaps she still loved him too. He hadn't failed to notice her jealousy whenever another woman entered his life, and he wanted to laugh. Didn't she know his heart was still hers?

He was supposed to be an author, supposed to be good with words, but he didn't know how to tell her how he felt. Never mind her reaction, he simply wanted to be able to express his feelings for her clearly. Maybe one day he would finally work out how to do so.


	20. Nov 20

_**Nov 20  
**_Of all the creatures that were made, man is the most detestable. Of the entire brood he is the only one-the solitary one-that possesses malice. That is the basest of all instincts, passions, vices-the most hateful. He is the only creature that has pain for sport, knowing it to be pain. Also-in all the list he is the only creature that has a nasty mind.  
**Mark Twain (1835 - 1910)**, _Mark Twain's Autobiography_

Ziva David knew people could be exceptionally cruel to each other.

It was a position unique among animals, she felt. She could think of no other who attacked their own kind simply for the sake of it. While animals squabbled over food, water and mates, humans were prepared to fight for so-called 'honor', envy, malice, a perceived difference between two groups, and for political points of view. Did people really not have better reasons to inflict pain?

She herself had killed and watched her friends die. She had experienced pain so badly she had wanted to cease to exist. But a cause, a just and honorable cause, had always been at the heart of it. Protecting her country. Protecting the people who lived in her country from people who wanted them all dead. Protecting her friends.

The ability to be evil seemed to be in every person. It was a stain on every human conscience, one that most people managed to control. Some people forgave the perceived crimes of others, and in doing so removed the hate from their hearts. Others found a different, more constructive channel for it. But a few, a very small few, allowed the evil to take over them.

They were the noisiest. They screamed and shouted so the whole world noticed them. They were seen to be representatives of everyone.

But Ziva knew most people were inclined towards the good. They wanted an easy life, a simple life with no pain and happiness for all. Perhaps it was time for them to find their voices and drown the other side out with all the love they carried within their hearts.


	21. Nov 21

_**Nov 21  
**_When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.  
**Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 - 1945)**, _quoted Kansas City Star, June 5, 1977_

Jennifer Shepard groaned as her cell phone went off. She had just fallen asleep after a long hard day…

"Shepard," she mumbled.

"Hell-_oo_."

It took a few moments for her brain to catch up. "Jethro?" She rolled over in the bed, wrapping herself more tightly in the bedsheets. "I should have recognized the heavy breathing."

The silence built between them as Jenny began to doze off again. But she couldn't quite fall asleep with him on the line.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"Need to show you something," came the reply.

"Now?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm at Ziva's apartment," she informed him, silently sighing. "Can it wait?"

"Go to the window."

With a sinking feeling, she forced herself out of bed. As she had feared, he was standing under a streetlamp on the other side of the road. "Great."

"Get out here," he told her. "Don't wake anyone up."

"Jethro!" she protested. "Ziva's sleeping on the couch!"

"So?" She could see his smirk from up here.

"How am I supposed to sneak past a sleeping Mossad ninja? If I wake her up, she'll throw a knife at my heart."

"You're in a _bedroom_, Jen."

She paused for a moment. "If you think for one moment that I'm making a rope out of bedsheets…"

He chuckled. "Whatever happened to adventure?"

Staring at him one last time, she shook her head and moved towards the bed. "You'd better be ready to break my fall," she warned, but a soft smile was beginning to play on her lips.


	22. Nov 22

_**Nov 22  
**_Pride is the recognition of the fact that you are your own highest value and, like all of man's values, it has to be earned.  
**Ayn Rand (1905 - 1982)**, _Atlas Shrugged_

Tony DiNozzo was very aware of the masks he wore every day. There was his 'clown' one, his 'frat boy' one, not to mention 'cop', 'Senior Field Agent' and 'Casanova'. He had other masks, far too many to count, but those were his favorites.

Pretty much all of them were full of pride, perhaps bordering on arrogance as Ziva happily informed him. He showed pride in his appearance, in his skills as an agent, in his way with women and in his general self. He could puff up with pride faster than a peacock. To the world, he showed a man who believed in himself, who believed he was amazing and the most valuable person around.

Except he didn't believe it himself. The masks hid his true self, the one that was broken. He didn't believe in himself at all, knew he was useless and had no idea why other people couldn't see that. Every day, he woke up and put his masks on to conceal himself from others.

It was very rare that he felt true pride in himself. When he played an instrumental part in catching a criminal. When he started dating the next beautiful woman. And late at night in the squad room when Gibbs told him in private that he'd done a good job.


	23. Nov 23

_**Nov 23  
**_What power has law where only money rules.  
**Gaius Petronius (~66 AD)**

Timothy McGee smiled sweetly at the barista as she came over to him. He needed to get on her good side.

He was in Tony's favorite coffee shop, determined to get even after Tony had put superglue on his keyboard, put superglue on the seat of his chair, switched his coffee with Gibbs' (earning Tim a headslap for breaking Rule Twenty Three), persuaded Ziva that he was responsible for the disappearance of her report on the Brockman case, set fire to his paper inbox, broken his brand new cell phone and informed Cindy in Finance that he was gay.

All in one morning.

Getting even wasn't an option; it was the only thing stopping him from telling Ziva who had superglued her desk drawers together, which would lead to Tony's imminent demise.

And while he wouldn't mind becoming Senior Field Agent, he felt he needed a little more experience first.

"Hey," he greeted her politely. "Gemma, right?"

She nodded. "How can I help you today?"

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor," he smiled, sliding a photo of Tony across the counter. "I want to play a joke on my friend. Is there any chance you could switch him to decaf without him realizing?"

She frowned, opening her mouth to turn him down.

Tim put his money on the counter. Gemma began to smile. "I'll see what I can do," she promised.


	24. Nov 24

_**Nov 24  
**_Life is like a game of cards. The hand that is dealt you is determinism; the way you play it is free will.  
**Jawaharlal Nehru (1889 - 1964)**

The fire crackled in the heath, slowly heating the otherwise chilly room. A grandfather clock ticked its regular time in the corner, marking the passage of time. Somewhere outside in the dark night, a dog howled.

Neither of the men in the room seemed to notice. They were engrossed in the cards they had been dealt. Each slowly considered his options before deciding their next step.

Ducky had been the one to suggest poker. It was perhaps the only card game they both knew how to play. They had been sharing a quiet, relaxing evening together, an evening with good food, good alcohol and great company, before he had suggested a game of cards.

He considered his cards. Jethro was as impossible to read as ever, although over the decades of their friendship he had learnt a few tricks to seeing beneath the surface. The tiny tells in his body language that gave him away when he was relaxed. Jethro had a bad hand.

But then so did he. He knew his friend could read him well and would by now have a good idea of the cards he was holding. The game was going to be interesting.

They looked up from their cards simultaneously and shared a brief smile, before returning to the cards.


	25. Nov 25

_**Nov 25  
**_Her greatness lay in doing what everybody could do but doesn't. She was unexpected. She was untitled. (She was) an improbable warrior that was leading an unlikely army of waitresses and street sweepers and shopkeepers and auto mechanics.  
**Jennifer Granholm**, _Michigan Governor at Rosa Park's funeral, , 11-02-05_

Cynthia did a mental calculation of how much she had collected and how many more people she could ask.

Despite being on her lunch break, she was still hard at work. But this work wasn't directly related to her job, though she felt it was more important.

Agent Dowswell had been killed by a suspect in the line of duty yesterday. The entire Navy Yard was in shock; he had been a lovely man who made everyone laugh and told sweet stories about his new wife. While the agents were in shock and fumbled with what to do, Cynthia had decided to organize some help for the widow, Wendy.

Already, several people in Finance had agreed to cook casseroles and take them over in the next few days. Jefferson in Legal had promised to look into Dowswell's affairs and check everything was in order. Half of the ladies in the evidence garage were sorting out a vague rota for who would spend their evenings with Wendy to support her.

Cynthia herself was busy collecting money for a floral tribute to Dowswell. So far she approximated she had enough for a large bouquet for Wendy, and was slowly but surely collecting enough for the funeral.

She knew everyone would rally round if encouraged. And she was just the person to do it.


	26. Nov 26

_**Nov 26  
**_The price of greatness is responsibility.  
**Sir Winston Churchill (1874 - 1965)**

Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo was in a very good mood. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and he'd had a very beautiful woman in his bed last night.

It helped that he was temporarily in charge of the team as well. Rule Thirty Eight was in effect, and Gibbs was stuck at his desk making phone calls. The Probie had whined his little head off, but the Rules were Rules and could only be altered by _el jefe_. Which he currently was. Sort of.

Which was why he was sauntering down the street on the way to interview a pretty witness, while Gibbs researched their dead PFC's life and McGee did the whole financial check doodah. And while he was in charge, Ziva would be helping him out, hopefully with a little less snarking than usual.

Despite her threat to drill a hole in his kneecap a few hours ago.

"Do you know what it's like to be the Boss?" he asked her. "To have all the power? Of course you don't; you'll never be allowed to run your own case."

"And why is that?" He ignored the inflection in her tone that suggested he was a dead man walking.

"Because all the cases you've done on your own in your former life as a Mossad assassin have oddly enough ended in death. Theirs. And therefore they can't come back to haunt you in the guise of Rule Thirty Eight. You know, this also means McGoo can't take charge because he's only ever been in the field with us –"

He smacked head first into something. Something hard. As he picked himself up off the floor and gingerly poked his nose to see if it was broken, Ziva laughed. "Does Rule Thirty Eight mean I have to warn you if you are about to walk into a lamppost?" she inquired happily.


	27. Nov 27

_**Nov 27  
**_To fulfill a dream, to be allowed to sweat over lonely labor, to be given the chance to create, is the meat and potatoes of life. The money is the gravy. As everyone else, I love to dunk my crust in it. But alone, it is not a diet designed to keep body and soul together.  
**Bette Davis (1908 - 1989)**, _The Lonely Life, 1962_

Jimmy Palmer patted his stomach gently. Perhaps it was a little bigger than usual.

It had been a conversation between Ducky and Tony that had made him think. Ducky had taken Tony to task for his high cholesterol level after his annual physical. Tony had disagreed with the results without understanding them properly and stated that he was absolutely fine. Ducky had responded by showing him photos of clogged arteries and warning him about the dangers of a serious heart attack if he didn't change his diet.

While it might not have scared Tony, it had definitely affected Palmer. He was acutely aware of eating a lot of junk food, but he had put it down to working long, crazy, unusual hours. Cooking a healthy meal from scratch after a sixteen hour day, staring into corpses and trekking through acres of mud to crime scenes wasn't really an option.

And yet Ducky managed it. He picked healthy options when they went out for lunch, rather than Palmer's usual burger and fries. He brought homemade pasta pots in for those days they didn't have enough time to leave the Navy Yard. Sometimes he treated himself, but most of the time he enjoyed beautiful, tasty meals.

He patted his stomach again. Definitely putting on weight. Maybe it was time to start asking Ducky for tips.


	28. Nov 28

_**Nov 28  
**_Evil to him who evil thinks.  
(Honi Soit Qui Mal Pense)  
**King Edward the Third (1312 - 1377)**, _Motto of the order of the Garter_

Ziva David looked up from her work as a paper airplane hit her desk. There was only one person who would dare to commit such an act.

Tony was grinning at her, and she was secretly delighted when he wiped the grin off his face at her glare. Perhaps he was finally learning what a bad idea it was to annoy a Mossad assassin.

"How many languages do you speak, Zee-_vah_?" he asked.

"Ten," she answered, unsure where this was going.

"Ten," he repeated. "Don't you think that's a little too many? I mean, everyone speaks English nowadays."

"At least I do not have to resort to speaking English loudly and gesturing when I am in a foreign country, _ahabal_."

"You'd be good at that," he mused.

She glared at him.

"Cash and weapons are understandable in every language," he pointed out.

She shook her head in frustration. "Then why do you not understand my English when I threaten to remove your head from your shoulders?"

"Because you don't mean it?" he suggested helpfully.

She rose slowly and gracefully from her chair, crossing the room rapidly and pressing a knife against his throat. "Care to repeat that?" she inquired politely.

"Nah, I'm good," he mumbled, acutely aware of the blade pressing against his skin.

"Good," she replied, sheathing her knife and walking back to her desk, turning slightly to greet the newcomer. "Shalom, Gibbs."


	29. Nov 29

_**Nov 29  
**_God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  
**Reinhold Niebuhr (1892 - 1971)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs knew that some things could never be changed. Some things that he would have done anything to alter were simply impossible.

What he wouldn't give to see Shannon and Kelly one last time…

But he was also acutely aware that it was possible to change far more in life than most people realized. People gave up far too easily. He could have given up after their funerals, instead of forcing himself through rehab and attained his revenge. He had found another way to carry on his life, if not fighting for his country then achieving justice for those still on the frontline.

He was relentless. When DiNozzo had complained about the rental car not being suitable, he had glared at the hire person until they had agreed to change it. When McGee had noted the barista had mixed up his order yet again, Gibbs had had a quiet word with the manager. When Ziva had been arrested after a misunderstanding with a traffic officer, he had sorted the whole thing out in under ten minutes without any paperwork by scaring the living daylights out of the officer in charge.

Perhaps he had to break a few egos to get things done, and occasionally a few legs, but he was very aware of the things he could change and exactly the right amount of pressure he needed to bring to bear.


	30. Nov 30

_**Nov 30  
**_For the great mass of mankind, the only saving grace needed is a steady fidelity to what is nearest to hand and heart for the short moment of each human effort.  
**Joseph Conrad (1857 - 1924)**

Timothy McGee continued to stare at the computer monitor. Any minute now… Any minute now…

He and Abby had been tasked by Gibbs to access a suspect's bank records. Unfortunately, said suspect had an account in the Caymans, with the latest internet firewall. Breaking through it was essential to the case, but extremely complex. Gibbs being Gibbs hadn't understood this, and had given then three hours to get in.

Four hours ago.

The man was practically breathing down their necks for results. Abby had temporarily soothed the beast by ordering him to bring her more Caf-Pow!, but they were running out of time.

"Is that…" Abby paused, clearly unwilling to give voice to it in case she was imaging it.

"It is," Tim breathed.

They'd done it! He turned to her, a big grin on his face. Her face mirrored his own and for a few moments, they continued to grin like idiots. It didn't matter – they were in! He drew her in for a hug, wanted to express how amazing the moment felt but unable to do it in words. Sometimes Abby had the right idea by hugging everyone. He let her rest her head against his shoulder as they held onto each other tightly.

"You'd better be in," Gibbs growled right behind them.


End file.
